back in the Twin Cities. We finally have an ID on my killer.”
“What’s his name?”
“Francois Foche, formerly with French Intelligence,” Mac reached in his backpack for his iPad. “Duffy is sending me this guy’s background. I should have it in a few minutes and he’ll be sending it to the both of you as well. Where are we at with Connolly?”
Gates snorted, “Chase is setting the ground rules. Filibusters have been shorter.”
Mac nodded. “Then I’m going to make a couple of calls.” He stepped back out into the hall and dialed the Judge.
* * *
Judge Dixon looked at his watch, 2:47 p.m. They were flying over Indiana, on their way back to Ohio, with a stop in Columbus and then on to Cleveland. Tomorrow they were going airport hopping.
While not wanting to distract the governor as he prepared for his next speech, this was information he should have before a call was made to McCormick’s mother. The Judge pulled the governor to the front of the cabin of the 747 away from the bulk of the staff. “McRyan has identified Sebastian’s killer, a man named Francois Foche,” the Judge opened a folder and showed Foche’s picture and background to the governor who took out his reading glasses to scan the material.
“Former French Directorate of Intelligence?” the governor asked, looking up from the material, taking off his glasses.
“He was, until about ten years ago. Looks like things went bad on an operation in Afghanistan and he was sent back to Paris in shame to become a desk jockey. Shortly thereafter, Foche, the name, disappears. Foche the man has been up to something for that time and the FBI and other agencies are trying to piece it together now that they know who he is. He wasn’t operating by himself so we’re hoping to find a few others in his past that might help us.”
The governor nodded. “I should call Sebastian’s mother.”
“Let me handle that,” the Judge answered. “After I talk to her then maybe you could give her a call, but let me do the heavy lifting on this.”
Thomson nodded as he continued to look at the picture of Foche. “Too bad he’s dead,” the governor stated. “He could have answered a lot of questions.”
* * *
The text from Wire asked: How’s it going?
Mac provided a succinct reply: Shitty!
The interview with Connolly had gone on for two hours now and it was not going anywhere. Berman and Speck went at Connolly and to a certain degree, Chase his lawyer, every way they knew how and every way Mac, the director or the attorney general could think to go and Connolly wasn’t giving them anything.
It wasn’t a surprise to Mac. He didn’t think Connolly would talk. They didn’t have any leverage. He was at a clandestine meeting in Kentucky but the only known person from the meeting still alive was Connolly. Connolly asked what proof they had he was at the meeting and Berman showed the photos, to which Connolly replied, “So what? I was at a meeting during an election.”
“With two Russians and the president of a company that manufactures and distributes voting machines for half the country,” Agent Speck replied.
“Is that illegal?”
“It is if you’re conspiring to fix the Presidential Election.”
“Here it comes,” Mac muttered.
Connolly: “What proof do you have of that?”
None.
They had no proof. They had supposition and suspicions but no hard evidence. There was one picture of Domitrovich at the meeting holding something in his hand. Despite his best efforts, Jupiter had been unable to blow up the photo to make a definitive determination. Mac was certain it was a memory card but that was more based on an educated guess than any certainty based on the picture. It was really impossible to tell. It was too easy to argue that Domitrovich could be holding any number of things, including a memory card, or so the argument would go. Berman went that route and Connolly laughed it off, “Is that all you got?” Connolly wasn’t in St. Paul. He wasn’t in Milwaukee. All he’d done is take a meeting in Kentucky.
“Bullshit,” Gates and Mitchell muttered in unison from the technical room.
“Complete bullshit,” Mac agreed. “But the only ones who could call him on it are dead.” McRyan looked at his cell phone, which was buzzing. He had a text from Riley. He started reading through it and then his eyes went wide.
Mitchell noticed the change in his demeanor. “What is it, Mac?”